


Therein Lies The Shadow

by DelgadoAinley



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Science Fiction, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-20 21:03:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9516089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelgadoAinley/pseuds/DelgadoAinley
Summary: Blake and company rescue (kind of) the political prisoner Shadow from a Federation penal colony. Blake's aim is to have her join the Liberator. Villa's aim is to not die. Avon's aim is to ignore the newcomer as he ignores the rest of them, focusing instead on ensuring Blake doesn't land them all in a Servalan trap. But Shadow isn't your usual revolutionary serial killer. Fresh from the memory of Anna Grant, Avon doesn't need distracting. Fresh from the murder of everyone she loves, neither does she.Fresh from the dress store in yet another impossibly impractical creation for careering around space, Servalan doesn't need either of them. She doesn't need Blake, or his new ally or his new plans. She does however need Space Commander Travis.





	1. Herein Lies The Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't not write Blake and Avon together so in this fic Blake never left at the end of S2 and Tarrant never arrived. I assume he's still off in the distance somewhere. Dayna still made it to the Liberator though. 
> 
> Everything else is as canon as I can make it. Please forgive any slip ups or mistakes. I tend to fangirl too much on Avon when watching or reading & some minor details pass me by. Comments welcome, please don't be vicious. Travis doesn't like it when you're vicious. Well...he does...but only in certain circumstances and not while he's working.

“Give us the available information again on Penal Colony Eight,” Avon snapped, dark eyes like bitter chocolate flickering to Villa, cluttering up the bridge of the Liberator. 

He stood behind the navigation console of the ship, letting his gaze run from Villa to their illustrious leader {here, his inner voice ran with sarcasm so thick he nearly choked} Blake. Said leader was slouched on the plush couches directly behind Orac, an arm spread out either way over the backs of the couches and his eyes hooded, almost closed. To anyone else, it would have looked like Blake was dozing. To Avon, he knew that Blake was replaying their plan over and over in his head, teasing out the possible problems. It was unfortunate that Blake was of course, an idiot and would therefore miss the most logical problems that would present themselves. As if sensing the insult Blake opened one eye and grinned at him lazily. 

“I’ll read it out again, shall I?” Villa asked, hovering over the information Zen had given them regarding their next mission, what Villa liked to refer to as a “bad mission.” They got a lot of those, mind you, Villa tended to classify anything that involved any possibility of him getting hurt as a bad mission. 

“That is what I just said,” Avon replied, his words clipped and cold. Villa muttered something and leant forward to read. 

“Penal Colony Eight, established on Abora Major to house your general Federation prisoners; minor moral deviationists, thugs, kidnappers, couple murderers, thieves…hey, thieves are highly specialised I’ll have you know, I didn’t pick up my training just anywhere!” He looked up, indignant; he happened to the best thief this side of the Federation. And possibly the other too. Blake was listening, the dark curls tilted his way and the deceptively lazy brown eyes trained on him. Avon was regarding him with the vague exasperated look that always seemed to sit on Avon’s face when Villa spoke, he noticed. Villa gave them a bright, slightly nervous smile and continued. “Ah, Eight was reclassified as medium security before the war when they moved the political prisoner Shadow there, ah, for being a bit of a trouble causer on Earth it looks like. Are you sure we want to rescue a trouble causer? We’ve got enough trouble.”

Blake gave him an indulgent smile and nodded, “Of course we do, Villa, where’s your sense of adventure?”

Villa shrugged, “Probably ran off with my sense of bravery years ago.”

Avon snorted quietly behind them, his face impassive when Villa span round to see if he had in fact made a joke and Avon had in fact responded to it. He watched Avon for a second and then turned back to his information. “Shadow has been there ever since, no record of any trouble causing since then, maybe he’s dead?” he asked hopefully. 

“Shadow is a woman,” Blake pointed out, making one dark eyebrow of Avon’s arch infinitesimally. The idealistic Blake would fall head over heels for a revolutionary romantic. 

“Ah well now you never said that,” Villa straightened up. “I quite fancy a bit of being the hero…” he reconsidered, “As long as the hero stays healthy and whole without any bits coming off.”

“I shouldn’t worry, Villa,” Avon interrupted, slow measured steps coming up behind Villa to read the information for himself without the interruptions from his crewmate. “No-one is interested in your bits.” Blake laughed, tipping his head back, white teeth shining. His face was wreathed in a smile as he turned his face like the sun on Avon. 

Avon regarded his happy face with the same cool detachment. “I might have known that would amuse you.” He returned to the information, “Shadow has been silent since incarceration. Does that not strike you as suspicious? No record of attacks on guards, no uprising, not even so much as an infraction for missing a Federation meeting. Either she is dead or she has reconsidered her ways.”

Blake shook his head, the smile dropping. “It’s… if Shadow was subjected to reconditioning like I was, it’s very possible that she’s injured or traumatized. She may be unable to fight if she wanted to.” His handsome face darkened with his own memories; the light burning through his closed eyelids, the voices in his head, the electricity shutting off his heart, starting it again. You belong to us. We own your life. Life and death in the Federation Blake, do you see how easy it is to stop? He blinked, feeling the old nausea rise up in his throat. 

“You are here, you are alive” Avon said calmly, without lifting his eyes from the readout. The fact that Avon knew the grounding technique never failed to surprise Blake. It also never failed to bring a rush of sympathy to him either when he remembered Avon knew it because Avon had survived five days of torture and agony to find Anna’s killer. Anna, who had never been dead. Anna, who had never really been Anna. He heard the semi-silent snarl from Avon as if he knew what Blake was thinking. 

“Thank you,” Blake replied, Avon ignoring it as usual. “You understand then why I have to get Shadow out of there? To leave someone else like that, it would make us no better than the Federation.” Villa nodded, his eyes also running down the information available. 

“Ah…have you seen this?” he asked, pointing to the list of crimes under Shadows’ name. “She isn’t just political. Murder times four it says here. Are you still sure?”

“Federation crime sheets aren’t worth the data they come in on,” Blake muttered. “You know my charges.” Villa had to agree with that, though he did give the word ‘murder’ one more look just to be sure. Villa himself was listed as a dangerous revolutionary according to Servalan’s Federation records and he was no more dangerous than a puppy. A quiet puppy that just wanted a nap in front of the fire, maybe a bit of Soma every hour. That reminds him, he was about due for a drink. 

“I have new information available,” Orac commented smugly. Orac always sounded so smug when he knew something they didn’t and considering he was the most powerful computer invented, he sounded smug quite a lot. Only Avon returned the smug smirk. 

“Go on.” 

“Penal Colony Eight has ceased to operate,” Orac offered, just as smugly. If anything he sounded more smug. 

Blake damn nearly leapt off the couches, “What? How? Penal colonies never cease to operate and Eight was too far out of the path of the Federation war to have been properly affected by their collapse. Guards are guards. Orac, explain yourself.” 

“Penal Colony Eight has ceased to operate,” Orac replied. 

Avon gave a slight twist of his full lips as he came to stand by Blake, folding his arms behind him. “Orac, give parameters and background for the ceasing of operations of Eight. Specify current state,” he intoned, before glancing at Blake. “He follows me better than you, Blake.” Blake bristled, as he knew he would, before Blake caught the tiny glimmer of a twinkle in Avon’s eyes. 

“Penal Colony Eight ceased to operate one week ago. It was overrun by the prisoners within in a strategy initiated by the prisoner Shadow. New crimes to follow,” Orac detailed. “Current state; all guards confirmed deceased pending Federation records. Prisoners detailed 45 now utilising the facility as primitive home base. One prisoner remains within the judgement compound itself. No discernible leader.”

“A…and the new crimes?” Villa asked, focusing on what he considered the most important question. If they were bringing Shadow aboard he didn’t want to find out she was a cannibal or hated thieves or something. 

“New crimes for prisoner Shadow total 15. Classification upgraded,” Orac said flatly. The computer somehow waited a pregnant pause, making Villa almost sweat before it added, “15 counts of the murders of the Federation guards on Penal Colony Eight. Classification upgraded to One.”

One. One was Blake’s classification. “One! One and you want to bring her on here? We won’t be safe in our beds.”

“Villa, you are registered as One. You are after all, a dangerous revolutionary,” Avon interjected with no small amount of smugness himself. Him and bloody Orac, like two peas in a pod. 

“Orac, say again. Shadow murdered all the guards on Eight? With accomplices?” Blake asked, running his hand over his stubble. 

“Information available reports Shadow acting alone.”

“And she initiated the revolt?” 

“Information available reports Shadow is not the discernible leader of the inmates.”

“Orac, confirm the prisoner remaining in the Judgement compound is Shadow,” Avon interrupted.

“Confirmed.”

“What?” Blake whirled on him, all 6 foot 3 and muscle, “She’s free! The place is overthrown, rebels everywhere. She ought to be celebrating. Why is she still in Judgement?”

“Information unavailable.”

“Do you still want to do this?” Villa asked hopefully. Maybe they could scrap it. 

Blake looked at him askance for a moment before he nodded, “Of course. Ask Cally to prepare medical facilities. She may be badly injured if she hasn’t left Judgement.” 

****

 

Maeve slowly and carefully raised her hand to her waist and, just as slowly and carefully, gave the savagely controlled face of Servalan staring down at them from a screen above the middle finger. She allowed herself a small smirk, keeping her face down, hidden from the Federation guard either side of the slow moving queue heading back to their cells. 

Her hand lowered to her side once again, brushing against the tan, shapeless uniform given to prisoners. “Hands behind your back, Shadow,” one of the Federation guards by the Judgement wing called out. Maeve rolled her eyes and over-dramatically made a show of folding her hands behind her back in the pre-approved posture of prisoners. She supposed she should be surprised Servalan hadn’t ordered they all crop their hair like hers. Damn, she should have given her the middle finger with both hands. Maeve turned a winning smile on the guard who’d spoken, his face invisible behind the black shield. 

“Sorry about that,” she murmured. Behind her, one of the other prisoners gave a quiet laugh at her tone, before the same guard reprimanded them. Shadow’s fingers extended back in a show of sympathy, touching the hem of the linen tunic the prisoner wore. By the nick cut into the fabric she knew it was George, one of the oldest prisoners in the compound, arrested for stealing from Earth forty years ago. Maeve turned her head slightly and smiled in George’s direction. 

“Best be keeping them hands behind your back and not be smiling,” George muttered, making her smile a real one. 

“All smiles should resemble Servalan’s, George, just practicing.”

George couldn’t help the laugh that trickled out of his old bones, not even as the Federation guard waded into them and laid a baton between Maeve’s shoulder blades and Georges’ ribs. Maeve listened to him laugh as the blows fell on her back and smiled, worth it just to hear that. 40 years for stealing food. 

George was dragged off to the wing to the left of hers, leaving only Maeve and two other prisoners for the Judgement wing. She followed their backs easily enough, her back beginning to radiate pain from the Guards’ blows. In her head she counted off forty steps for the first prisoner before he stepped into his cell, another thirty for the other one and finally, fifty more bringing her to her own. Silly little ritual maybe, counting steps but it kept her sane and there’d been too many nights Maeve had come screaming close to the chasms edge of insanity that she’d ignore anything that might keep her from it. 

 

She froze; the door to her cell was ajar. Federation rules stipulated all cells must be closed after the prisoner leaves and of course, while the prisoner was in it. It was perhaps the only rule she didn’t mind here, didn’t like the idea of people being in her personal space, her cell, as if they could know what she thought and felt in there. “Guard,” she said flatly, “The door to my cell is open.”

Her attacker from earlier turned and even though the visor blanked out his entire face she knew he was smiling. “It sure is, Shadow. Note for you, from Madame Servalan herself.” Maeve straightened, giving him a cold glance.   
“What, no personal visit? That’s a shame, you could have got that promotion you wanted!” This time the baton caught her cheek and she stumbled, but kept upright. Maeve stepped into her cell, hearing the door click shut behind her. She stayed stock still for a long moment, her eyes marking out each corner of her cell. Nothing had been disturbed visually, though she didn’t put it past Servalan to have filled the cell with some kind of gas. When she didn’t collapse to the floor, she took four steps to the centre of the room, one to the left and reached down for the pristine ivory envelope resting on the plastic table. Her fingers shook briefly as she scissored the envelope open and slid out an ivory card, emblazoned with the symbol of the Federation and the Presidents’ own branding. 

[I]My dear Shadow, 

I do hope my guards are treating you well. 

I apologise for not contacting you earlier, only, of course, you would have created such a panic and I do so abhor panic. The cleanup is always rather messy. 

So please forgive the late notice, but I regret to inform you that your city was destroyed in the aftermath of the Federation war. Your family home was struck by ground weapons. There were no survivors.   
Please do not try to check. I ensured there were no survivors personally. Your little sister has rather a charming room for the relative of a serial killer doesn’t she?

Perhaps this will remind you what happens to those who threaten me. 

Ever,

Madame President Servalan. [/I]

 

The ivory card blotched rapidly with fat tearstains, smearing the handwritten ink. Maeve’s air became thin, choked gasps as she crumpled the card between her fingers. Her knees gave way, collapsing to the floor in a loose mess of tangled limbs, tearing at her hair, her skin, clawing at the tunic. The two other prisoners in Judgement sat stone still in their cells, frozen by the agonized, animal howl ripping from Shadow’s cell. They listened as one letter did what two years of indoctrination and torture had failed to do. Inside the room, Maeve curled in on herself, her heart ripped open. The one thing she loved, the one thing she loved. Her arms locked over her head and she gave way, giving in to the agony lurking behind her eyelids. 

Outside the cell, the Federation Guard who’d been so free with his baton waited. He was indeed smiling behind the visor, laughing too. “Is that all it takes to break the great Shadow?” he crooned through the door. “Just a couple kids and old people dead?” He listened to the sobs with great satisfaction, his fingers tracing underneath his visor at the jagged scar Shadow had left him 2 years ago when she’d been imprisoned here. “If we’d have known sooner, sweetheart, my face would have appreciated it.”

The room went silent suddenly, making him pause. Her monitor readout showed her life signs as unchanged. She was still there, of course she was, there was no way out of the cell save the front door and he was stood by that. She was just quiet. The powerful revolutionary had probably cried herself to sleep. The corridor seemed to grow colder suddenly, making him adjust his black jacket. Idiots in central heating were probably asleep again.   
Inside the cell once again, Maeve stared at the floor, her tears drying. She waited until she could feel them almost evaporate into the air around her. Her wobbling lip stopped as her teeth bit down hard, almost drawing blood. She breathed deeply, keeping her hands locked over her head. “Thank you,” she called out, her voice cold and sharp as she inhaled. 

“Thank you? Shadow, you understand what Servalan has done right? Don’t tell me we need another trip to your healers again.” The ‘healers’, ironically named and never to their faces by the rest of the Federation Guards were responsible for the indoctrination of new prisoners. They’d seen Shadow many, many times since she’d been imprisoned. The only other prisoner who’d withstood such conditioning was Roj Blake. 

“No, no, I get that,” Maeve replied, holding on to the ball of agony that arose as she spoke. She swallowed it, feeling it spread like ice through her. That’s it. Maeve closed her eyes and felt her veins burn with frozen blood. She kept them closed and took the words on the letter in her mind, locking them down. She let the devestation she felt fester in the pit of her soul and turn to ice. The rage, oh the rage, she kindled. Felt it flare bright and brilliant in her soul, like the only thing she could see. Her family were dead. The Federation and Servalan had seen to that. Maeve stood, straightening out her ill fitting outfit as she did so. She brushed dust from her knees and stretched out her calves. No sense getting a stitch while she was at it. Seven paces took her to the right wall, where one flip against it brought her to the loose ceiling panel. Her hand slid inside, pulling out the makeshift blade she’d been working on for two years. It slipped easily into her hand and she dropped down to the floor. “I meant,” she answered, “I meant thank you. Thank you for reminding me who I am.”

Avon, Blake, Cally and Dayna gathered on the teleport pad. Villa sat behind the control panel, visually checking the co-ordinates once more. “We’ll set down just inside the compound gates,” Blake announced, “We’ll get an understanding of what the situation is like down there soon enough. Villa, don’t leave the controls. We might need you to take us back out again quickly if things get hairy.”

“Am I leaving the controls? Am I?” Villa wondered, one hand on his drink. “I’ll stay right here. You don’t want to leave Cally with me?” He liked Cally. She was calming, soothing, always knew what to say. Cally gave him a warm smile, see? That was his point. 

“We need Cally,” Blake pointed out, “If Shadow is too badly traumatized to listen to us, Cally may be our only chance to reach her.” Well, Villa considered, there was that. 

Avon snapped on his bracelet and checked his gun. “Are we going or does one of us need to stay and hold Villa’s hand?” he snapped coldly. Blake smirked easily, giving Avon an affectionate glance the other man couldn’t see.   
“Stay in touch,” Blake warned, just as the teleport took him. The next second his feet touched solid concrete, spreading out away from him in a mess yard. Immediately all four of them unholstered their guns, Blake stepping forward. He touched the bracelet, “Down and safe.”

“Stay that way,” Villa suggested, making Blake chuckle. 

Avon, Dayna and Cally had stepped forward to join him now, only Avon with his weapon still drawn. Blake looked around, pleasantly surprised at the penal colony remains. The building itself still stood but what should have been a mess yard was now part farming land, part makeshift camp. Rural looking, rustic, but the people gathered around fires and metal tables obviously thieved from inside looked happy enough not to care. Smiles. Smiles in a penal colony. 

The people closest to them were such a group, their eyes trained as one on Avon’s drawn weapon. Measuring their stances, Avon judged them to be unarmed and given the fear visible in their eyes, he holstered it. They visibly relaxed. An old man, silver and white decorating his beard stepped forward to them, holding out his hand. “I am George…you, you are Blake. I’ve seen your face on the vidscreens. I am happy you are still alive.”

“So am I,” Blake returned, a polite smile touching his face. “This is Avon, Cally and Dayna. We heard you’d broken free?”Although the people behind George cheered at this, George didn’t. 

“We didn’t. This is Maeve’s…the Shadow’s doing. She freed us.”It was clear from the sadness on his face that George thought a lot of their target, which disposed Blake to like him. 

“She’s not out here?” he asked, scanning the crowd. The vid screen they had seen showed a 2 year old photo of a woman in a hooded grey robe entering the Judgement wing. Only her face had been visible and that had been beautiful. 

“No. Shadow freed us and…and she hasn’t come out of her cell since. I’ve, I’ve taken her food, drink, offered her my protection, not that she needs it but…I didn’t really know what else to say. I…you haven’t come to hurt her?” George stammered protectively, his age not blocking him from stepping forward once more. 

“No, no, quite the opposite. We did intend to rescue her from Eight but it looks like she’s done it already! Political overthrow from the penal colony, reminds me of myself.”

Of course it did, Avon’s thoughts dripping in sarcasm. Conveniently forgetting without Avon’s skill they would still be trapped in their own Judgement. 

“Political?” George repeated, stunned. “This…this wasn’t political.”

“Aye it was! Good old Shadow, setting us free. Now alls we got to do is hope the Federation doesn’t notice we’re all out. Shouldn’t, not now we took down their communications.” Blake chuckled at this bit of revolutionary behaviour, reinforcing his belief. George turned to stare at the interloper with a baleful expression, before turning his gaze back to them. 

“It wasn’t political. Shadow didn’t do it for us. She didn’t even mean to escape. This is…well, if you go in there you’ll see for yourself. This is a murder spree. We just got lucky. And…and don’t you go judging her for it neither,” George warned. “Singlehanded she was and saved all of us. You…” he addressed Cally, “You’re one of them, I knew one of you once. You can sense her can’t you?” Cally closed her eyes briefly, the woman wasn’t hard to sense. It was like sorrow bleeding out. 

“Yes. She remains in the compound,” Cally said softly. “Is she hurt?”

“I’m the only one that’s seen her but she doesn’t look bad to me. She’s got a nasty cut on her face from ol Red giving her a beating before she got that letter, but…but she’s alright physically. Mentally…” he drifted off, giving the building a concerned look. “Will you still take her?”

Without checking with the others Blake nodded, “Yes, if she wants to come.”

“Please take her away from here. It…it isn’t healthy for her.” Intrigued, Blake nodded once more, starting forward. “You’re welcome here. No-one will attack you. Couldn’t if we wanted to, all the weapons except Shadows are still in the armoury.”

Avon and Dayna tensed and turned, almost as one. Dayna’s eyes flickered, “You said except Shadows. What is she armed with?”

George smiled then, a warm affectionate smile. The smile of a father to a daughter. “One blade.” Dayna’s muscles moved from tension into waiting, formulating the places a woman could hide a blade and how she could be disarmed. Avon did the same, only without the warrior bloodlust Dayna carried, filing the routine away in his mind. 

“You called her something else before Shadow,” he stated coldly, making Blake and Cally pause in interest. 

“Maeve,” George replied, “That’s her name. You didn’t think she was called Shadow naturally did you?” After Blake’s eyes flicked away briefly George gave a rueful smile. “I see you did. No, she got Shadow as a nickname. In and out like a shadow, she is.” 

“Charming,” Avon noted sarcastically, keeping his hand on his weapon as they approached the building. The former prisoners around them didn’t make a move towards them, watching them with either wary or pleased eyes depending on how long they’d been resident here. Dayna flanked his left side, Blake at his right. Cally brought up the rear. Dayna would dart away and return, an arrow shooting straight and true. Avon didn’t try and stop her when she ran, fierce and fiery straight into danger. He got out of her way. Blake at his right on the other hand was more like Avon himself. Despite the precocious brilliance of the idealistic man, he fought like Avon, strategizing his next move. The two of them fought well together and while Avon wouldn’t trust the man not to land him at Death’s door, he was better than having Villa shivering at his back. 

The doors to the compound – immense, metal and barred – swung open. Inside the corridor was dimly lit, emergency lighting only showing the bodies of Federation Guards face down. They formed a rough path leading away from them into the shadows where a faltering light showed the words ‘Judgement Wing’ in neat letters. Dayna crouched quickly over the closest fallen guard. She kicked him over onto his front, noting with a small amount of pleasure that the guards’ throat had been slit neatly. A pool of crimson blood stained the concrete floor beneath him and signalled his death more clearly than any other sign. “Clean cut wound straight through the carotid artery,” she announced, impressed. “No sawing, no signs of a struggle, this was done very quickly. Is this her? The woman you wish to rescue?” Dayna sounded quite pleased to meet her, Blake noted. 

“I assume so. It was hardly the old man out there,” he replied. 

“He said this is her work. You would do better to listen than daydream,” Avon warned him, controlled, measured steps leading him to the next guards’ body. He kicked the body over. “Same wound, same neatness,” he noted. The slit throat was efficient, if messy. It spoke of viciousness and rage. He drew out his weapon, noting Blake doing the same. Dayna moved as silently as a panther along the walls.   
“You don’t need them,” Cally said softly, her voice strained as she felt the weight of the sorrow bleeding down the walls. “This woman is…”

“This woman is sad and that makes her more dangerous,” Dayna replied. “You see sorrow, I feel rage.” Their woman was bleeding enough emotion through for Cally to sense but there was more than enough evidence of warrior rage here for Dayna. 

“And I feel bored,” Avon interrupted, “Shall we continue or do you want the shadows to start attacking?”

Remembering George’s mention of her ability, Blake kept his eyes trained on the shadows until they had passed most of the guards. Dayna checked each one; dead, in exactly the same way. “Methodical and logical,” Avon commented to himself, making Blake raise both eyebrows and glance at Cally knowingly. Cally smiled back at him as they walked through. The doors to the Judgement wing were also open, pinned back against the wall by George. There were trays of food, uneaten and untouched resting against the doors. The trays continued up the corridor and halted a short distance away at an open cell door. Avon’s hand tightened on his weapon as they moved closer. The door remained open, the light within the cell still working, revealing a room that looked like an explosion had landed ground zero there. 

The remenants of a bed were thrown around the room, a bedside table upended, paper strewn everywhere, the walls running crimson with bloody handprints and in the middle of it a woman, her head tucked into her knees, her arms locked around her knees. Blake crouched down a little distance from her, taking in the devestation of the room. “I’m Blake, this is Avon, Cally and Dayna. We’re very sorry for what happened to you here. We were on our way to rescue you but you beat us to it.” His smile was soft and soothing, extending both his hands as if to a wary dog. 

Maeve’s head lifted from her knees at the different voice. A pair of emerald eyes looked over tan clad knees and hit Avon between his ribs. He swallowed, noticing that the emerald eyes looked back down at her knees just as quickly. After a second, her eyes lifted once more and rested on Avon, then Blake as Blake spoke. “Can you talk? You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

He extended his hand further, palm up, offering to help her up. Maeve stretched out her own hand, clasped his and bounced up onto the balls of her feet. “Maeve,” she said matter of factly. “I can talk.”Behind Blake Cally gave an uncomfortable noise as the behaviour of the woman didn’t match her emotional state. As she stood her face was visible. Dayna murmured in sympathy as a large, vicious slash of a wound became visible across the lower half of Maeve’s face. Maeve’s eyes darted to Dayna before she raised a hand to the wound and touched it, as if remembering it was there. She flinched as the pain reminded her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to look a fright for my rescue squad.” Maeve gave a brittle laugh and narrowed her eyes a little more as she looked at them all. “You’re Roj Blake,” she announced, stretching. “Most wanted in the Federation. I’m sorry about the charges, I never believed any of them.” 

Her forthrightness threw Blake for a second, before he recovered and shrugged, “Sorry about yours.”

“Oh no,” Maeve smiled, “I committed all of mine.” The words seemed to hang in the empty space for a moment before she added, “I’ve always wanted to meet you.” Avon internally winced, another one of Blake’s fangirls, before realising that Maeve had moved slightly. She wasn’t speaking to Blake, she was…she was speaking to him. “You’re Kerr Avon. I’ve been a fan of your work since my Academy days.” Avon blinked, his mouth opening. A fan? 

“Wait, you know Avon?” Blake asked, incredulous. His astonishment was much more obvious, plastered across his face like he couldn’t believe it. It infuriated Avon, forcing his mouth shut and causing the familiar hard annoyance to coat the handsome features. 

“Of course she knows me, Blake, I do have other achievements other than saving your backside continuously.” 

“Kerr Avon, responsible for the single greatest bank heist the Federation ever saw, computer genius, robo…” she stopped, conscious of her words. A cloud passed over her face, shutting her down. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Avon replied, “You spoke the truth.” 

Maeve wobbled on her feet, Blake reaching out with a hand to steady her. She watched his hand warily, tensing, her body dropping back into a warriors stance. Blake’s hand halted and she righted herself. With the same closed expression she shrugged, “I haven’t been sleeping very well.”

Cally stepped forward with a comforting smile. “We have plenty of beds and space on board the Liberator. You can sleep for as long as you like.” 

Blake notified Villa that they’d reached Maeve, the woman watching with interest, noting the bracelet he spoke into. Avon stepped out into the corridor, his dark eyes watching the dim corridor. The bodies of Federation Guards met him and his voice when he spoke abruptly over the soothing tones of Cally, was harsh. “There are fifteen dead Federation Guards here. Who did this?” 

Maeve met his eyes with her own emerald ones, Avon feeling like a truck had run into his solar plexus. He looked away sharply, watching her reflection in the mirrors resting along the corridors, designed to allow the guards to pick up on changes in behaviour and posture. Like Maeve’s hand positioning a week ago. 

In the reflection, he could see she was still glaring at him, her eyes like the depths of the forests on Earth flashing. “I did. I did this. I murdered all of them, stepped up behind them and slit their throats. Did you think someone helped little old me?” The sarcasm that dripped from her tone almost made him smile as he turned his face back to her. 

“Hardly, your hands are still covered in blood and the murder weapon is in your left tunic pocket. An accomplice would have warned little old you not to be so carless,” Avon’s own sarcasm coated the room. 

“Avon,” Blake warned. 

Maeve picked the blade out of her tunic pocket and regarded it coldly. For a moment pure agony decorated her face in ribbons before she dropped it. “Not as careless as forgetting to disarm me. Not very logical of you is it, Avon?” The way his name sounded when she spoke it. Not like Blake’s sharp rebuke or even his amused drawl. Not Cally’s soft voice or the warmth of Dayna’s friendship. Maeve stepped between Blake and Cally, nodding at Blake for permission as she did so. Surprised, Blake nodded back. Her face drained of color as the change from sitting so long began to work on her wound, her tired muscles. “Not very…” she dropped in front of him, her face as white as snow, blood pooling from the wound on her face. 

Avon caught her before she hit the ground, scooping her up. “Easy does it,” he murmured, settling her against his chest. Large hands held her through the cheap linen, the almost burning heat of her body making his eyes narrow. “I believe she is running an infection,” he surmised logically from the rise in body temperature and her collapse. Blood pooled on his navy tunic from her cheek as Blake crossed to him. Blake looked down at her, a mixture of surprise and concern on his face. 

“I thought the Shadow would be more cold hearted and vicious, she seems quite pleasant.” 

“Pleasant enough to have murdered fifteen Federation Guards,” Avon remarked coldly. “Use your brain, Blake, I know it must be difficult to think of anything other than anthems to yourself. Shadow’s first charged murder victims were the Federation Guards and hierarchy who took her captive. Understandable, if not intelligent. A space of seven years with no further violent acts. Now fifteen dead Federation Guards? Something has happened to her, Blake.”

“She murdered her captors,” Dayna stated, looking down the corridor. “I like her.” 

“Teleport now, Villa,” Blake announced, by way of ending the conversation. 

 

**

 

When they appeared on the teleport pad of the Liberator a heartbeat later, Villa looked almost bored. “Do you know that’s only the fourth mission we’ve had where someone wasn’t in danger? We should do more of these. I like her already. Where is she…oh. I take it back then, being that close to Avon is danger enough. Is she okay?”

“She’s cartwheeling with joy,” Avon replied sarcastically. Maeve stirred in his arms, looking up at him for a moment. At the movement, he looked down, locking eyes with her. She smiled. Avon found himself smiling back, the gesture creeping out on the new territory of his face. Then her eyes rolled back in an effort to keep herself conscious. “Slowly,” he warned. 

“I’m not an invalid,” she snapped back, not taking her eyes off him. Dark hair brushed back from his temples and darker eyes like midnight underneath. A handsome face like the Archangels in the old, old Earth stories she’d read when she was little. An avenging angel. A savagely controlled face, full lips, Roman nose. His eyes…her little sister liked the stories about angels too. Jessa. Little Jessa. Dead now. At the hands of Servalan. Maeve bit down hard on the sob that threatened to rip her apart, feeling Avon’s hand tighten briefly on the back of her tunic as he felt the movement. She swallowed, choking on the bile and tears that rose. She couldn’t cry in front of them, she had a reputation to protect. 

“Hey now,” Villa said, walking to meet her. Cally and Dayna had stepped off the teleport pad and were thoughtfully giving her space to acclimatize to the new environment. Villa on the other hand, was walking towards her. 

She took a step back, into Avon. “Villa,” he murmured quietly. “He’s harmless.” 

“Villa,” Blake warned, with amusement lurking in his voice, “This is your serial killer.” Villa stopped immediately a little distance from her. 

“Please don’t kill me. She doesn’t look like a killer,” he offered, keeping his eyes fixed on her. “You won’t kill us will you? I’d be far too easy to kill.” 

Maeve smiled despite herself. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

“That’s good then! I’m sorry, I saw your pretty face and thought I’d come over. Ah, you’re not going to kill me for calling you pretty are you?” 

She giggled, just as Blake slapped his hand into his face and groaned, “Smooth, Villa, smooth.” All but Avon laughed, the latter giving a smirk that crept into his cheekbone. 

“If you’re finished, Villa,” Avon intoned. 

“Actually, Cally mentioned you’d had a bit of a rough time. I made you this while I was waiting.” Villa held out a glass containing a green liquid. Maeve instinctively flinched back against the wall of the transporter pad, away from them. Villa halted, holding the glass out. “It’s Soma, honest. I take a little bit of it.”

“A lot of it,” Dayna remarked. 

“A little, don’t listen to her, she’s always picking on me. It relaxes you, I thought…” 

Avon took a step towards her, an expression on his face she couldn’t place. It wasn’t angry, it…it looked almost protective? No…no she was…she was tired, she was...Blake stepped between them, blocking Villa and Avon from view. She found herself face to chest with his leather vest. “I’m sorry. Villa never…he never went through the same things,” Blake explained. Maeve looked up and met the understanding chocolate colored eyes. Of course, Blake had undergone the same indoctrination she had, the same ‘tests’, same treatment. The same green liquid in a glass. “It isn’t that, I promise you. I can sip it first if you like.” Maeve held his gaze a moment longer and shook her head. 

She took the glass from Villa and sniffed it. “I promise you it’s Soma,” he said again. 

“I don’t know what that is,” she muttered, earning a dramatic gasp from Villa. 

“You don’t…you don’t know what Soma is? Then I promise you, you’re in for a treat. You get that down you, I’ll tell you all about…hey! Steady on, you’re meant to sip it!” Maeve had downed the glass full of Soma in one and was running a finger around the rim of the glass. Avon watched her finger stroke the glass, dragging his eyes away and sitting down hard behind the transporter controls. Just new company, that was all, he thought. 

“I like that,” Maeve announced, feeling the liquid equivalent of a warm blanket settle around her. 

“Yes, well, so do I, but you’re not supposed to drink it all in one! I’ll um…I’ll get you some more shall I?” Villa suggested. “Why don’t you come with me?” 

“Villa, she needs food too,” Cally said softly. 

“Of course. You come with me, Villa will look after you,” Villa encouraged. 

“Villa can barely look after himself,” Blake replied, “I think we could all do with something to eat.” 

Avon stayed behind as the rest of them, including Maeve, filed through the brightly lit corridor of the Liberator. He steepled his fingers on the controls and regarded the slipping shadow of well… Shadow as she walked away. Villa and Dayna’s voices were bright, Callys a comforting hum underneath that. Blake posturing at the ship and its’ abilities, his spiel designed to make her want to align themselves with their great and glorious force that barely managed to stay alive week to week. He ran a diagnostic check on the transporter controls as his mind ran its’ own.

Shadow, or Maeve, her real name, had to be no more than thirty years old. The common ageing signs for humans didn’t place her much beyond this, if at all. Her raven hair had slipped out of the tight bun it had been in and had spilt down her shoulders in waves as onyx as night. Her eyes. He’d never seen eyes like that. Emerald and glittering and intelligent. She was curvier than both women already on board the ship, blinking confusedly as he registered curvy rather than athletic ability. No, definitely curvier, even through the shapeless uniform she was currently wearing. Avon allowed himself a small smirk as he considered this. She was not the size or shape of a woman he would have expected capable to take down fifteen guards in systematic, clean murders. Not that Avon didn’t expect women to be able to do it; in his experience women were capable of the most cold blooded murder available. 

Ah. Anna. Once again, she reared her head in the recesses of his mind. He had admired Anna’s curves once. He had thought her interesting. Avon had given much of himself and in return, had thought much had been given, including her life. Nothing had been given. Anna was not even Anna. Rather than ease the guilt he had been carrying since the news of her death, it had merely compacted it into the solid lead in his veins. Everyone betrayed him. No-one could be trusted. “Even your shadow will leave in the end,” he muttered to himself, lines from an ancient Earth poem he’d heard somewhere as a child. Appropriate. With the mention of Anna in his thoughts he stood, preparing to eat his own meal away from the rest of the crew and their new addition. 

Maeve followed Blake and the others into their functional looking canteen. At some point the tables had been dragged together to form a communal meal space and it was at this that they settled. Blake dragged another chair into the mix, placing her next to him and running his right hand through the mass of dark curls. “I have to say, I’m very interested in hearing your story. We’d already left Earth when you started, but we’ve heard all about your exploits. We’re political prisoners too.” 

“Not me, I’m just a thief,” Villa offered helpfully. 

“I’m not a political prisoner. I’m the last of my kind,” Cally answered softly. 

“Well I am, I suppose, a political prisoner,” Dayna replied. “My father and I were on an outpost. I was a weapons specialist.” 

“You still are,” Blake reminded her. “Dayna and Avon are our tacticians…where is Avon?” 

“He doesn’t eat with us remember? We’re probably too illogical while he eats his motor oil or whatever keeps him running,” Villa cracked, earning a rough laugh and a nudge from Blake. Maeve looked around the functional room, marking out that Avon wasn’t in it. It rubbed at her, though it shouldn’t. Should he be here just so she could fawn at his feet like earlier? Maeve was a student of his work, tinkering with computers and systems as long as she could remember, her father often sitting with her and show…her father. Dead. Mother. Jessa. Ravko. All dead. Everyone she had loved. Everyone she had tried to protect. She was poison; she’d killed them as much as Servalan had by leading them into the maw of Death. 

“Here,” Villa whispered, seeing the sudden glitter of tears in the jade eyes. “Have another.” He passed her a second cup of Soma, the taste radiating through her as she sipped it this time. He smiled and offered her a plate in addition. Maeve’s eyes about fell out of her head, staring at it. 

“All of that?” 

Cally turned her face away to hide the sympathy she could feel the woman wouldn’t appreciate. Blake’s face grew soft and he nodded, “That and whatever else you can fit in your stomach. No more rations.” Maeve’s eyes glittered again and this time she didn’t hide them, giving him a bright smile, before turning it on all of them. 

“No more rations!” she exclaimed, making Villa laugh. “Thank you.” She dug in as the others did, before her words caught her halfway through. “What do you expect of me joining the Liberator?”

Blake put down his glass and regarded her over his fist. “You and I have had some of the same memories, Maeve that makes you eligible for rescue in my book. I…I know what that’s like. But you’re also a brilliant tactician and assassin. You have insights we need and a fresher knowledge of the workings of the new Federation than we do.” 

“And you’re pretty,” Villa offered. 

She giggled, Blake’s face easing into a warm smile as he heard her giggle. “Oh so that’s it. None of what Blake was saying it’s my face that won you over.” 

“That and your legs,” Villa replied. 

“Oh not the legs again,”Dayna head-butted the table lightly. “Villa has a thing for legs.” 

“His own aren’t much good,” Blake added.

“They’re just fine at running away and that’s all I need them for,” Villa quipped. 

“I don’t know how you tell anything under this shapeless thing,” Maeve commented, pulling it away from her a little. “Are there spare clothes I could borrow?” 

“Is there?!” Cally exclaimed, “There’s an entire store of them, I’ll show you later if you like.” 

“Tomorrow,” Avon barked, stepping into the room. “Maeve, Zen has worked out your parameters for new clothing. It’s waiting for you whenever you choose a bedchamber; I suggest you do so soon. And I suggest you take one away from Villa.” Avon’s voice was like steel sliding over velvet, the bitter coffee eyes watching her as she guzzled like someone who hadn’t eaten in years. “Fraternize tomorrow. Cally, you’re on the night shift with me.”Cally grumbled lightly, but shrugged and smiled sweetly at Maeve. 

“Tomorrow then, first thing, you and me,” she told Maeve, who offered her a wan smile back. She was beginning to feel a vice like pressure around her stomach, probably the result of stuffing her face after two years of tasteless rations. Ignoring the pain, she poured the rest of the Soma down her throat, almost crowing in delight at how good it tasted. The meal finished shortly after Avon’s arrival as he declined his own share of their spoils, claiming he’d already eaten. “Do you want me to show you the rooms?” Cally asked, “Avon won’t mind.” 

“He will mind. The diagnostic checks for navigation haven’t been run in two days, not since Orac and I ran them last,” Avon snapped. “I will show Maeve and return. Try to at least run weapons checks,” he teased Cally in a warmer voice than he’d shown to Maeve since she’d first met him. That made sense, Maeve thought, looking at Cally. The woman was gorgeous, a shade of hair that hovered somewhere between light chocolate and golden in softly ringed curls, an elfin face that belonged somewhere in old fables and a graceful way of being. Maeve understood that, what she didn’t understand was why Avon’s tone bothered her so much. She stood, her stomach clenching tightly as she did. 

“Let’s get on then. You can show me my room and then you can get back to Cally,” Maeve offered, forcing politeness into her tone. Avon glanced quickly at her, his face registering surprise for a split second. 

“Irrelevant of Cally or not, the night shift must be…”

“Must be done, yes, Avon, we know. You can tell he drew up the rosters. Alright then, Avon and Cally, see you in the morning. Villa, try not to drink us dry during the night. Dayna, tomorrow,” Blake said goodnight to them all, making Maeve’s face ghost with the shadow of a smile. It was clear to see that despite and maybe because of their jagged edges with each other, they were a family. “Maeve, I’m glad you’re here. Perhaps you and I can talk tomorrow?” Maeve nodded, stilling as he dropped a hand on her shoulder in farewell. Blake removed it immediately and gave her a bright and brilliant grin that lit the room as he left it. 

The others drifted off, leaving Avon standing with his arms folded as she stood, “Did you eat?” she asked quietly, making his eyebrow raise an entire centimetre. “Did you really eat or are you just telling them that?” 

“Does it matter?” Avon barked, “This way.” He led the way out of the canteen, snarling at how stupidly pleased he’d been at the question. “Down here,” he snapped, leading her down another corridor. Little mementoes marked out the different rooms. Cally’s room had a painted design of flowers curling around the doorway, Dayna’s an exquisite spear. There was what looked like a free room next to them both but she shied away from it. As nice as the two women were, she wanted to be alone. Blake’s room wasn’t decorated on the outside, but his name was written above the door handle. Villa’s door was wide open, showing the man himself sprawling on a messy bed. 

He gave them both a cheery wave as they passed, “No midnight visits tonight eh Avon?” Maeve heard a roar of laughter from Blake’s room and Villa laughing below it. Avon gave him a murderous stare and carried on. There was a space of two rooms and then one with a firmly closed door. Avon didn’t say anything but she could tell by the way his feet slowed a fraction that this was his room. There was nothing on the door to indicate that it was, the room as masked as Avon himself. The room on the other side was free but Maeve looked down the rest of the corridor. Four more rooms. 

“Is the last room in use?” she asked, pointing to the fourth. 

Avon shook his head; long panther like strides in front of her before he pushed the door open. “This one has never been used,” he said abruptly, “The communications system might not work. “He stepped into the room and crossed just as abruptly to the bed, where a series of buttons performed the functions of the room. He crouched near the buttons and drew out two wires. “Fractured casings,” he announced, holding them up. He separated their filaments deftly and set to work on repairing them. Maeve hovered in the room, torn between watching his swift fingers work on the wires and exploring the room. On one hand, she’d always wanted to learn that and on the other, she’d also never had a room so nice in her life. 

The walls were painted a gentle grey, the bed standard issue, but the softest looking thing she’d ever seen. It was a darker shade of grey, broken up by soft white. A desk, a functional chair and then another chair, softer and longer. It looked like one you could just sprawl about on, like she’d stopped doing at the age of 18. Her fingers longed to curl in the velvet looking material. A small door, currently open, indicated the ensuite bathroom that lay beyond. As if prompted by the appearance of the bathroom, her stomach clenched violently. Maeve slapped her hand over her mouth. She was going to be sick. Bile rose in her throat, coating the back of her throat. Trying to force it down didn’t work, only the rising certainty that she was going to be sick and be sick right NOW. 

Maeve ran for the bathroom, hitting the cold floor on her knees in front of the toilet just as she threw up. Relieved that she had at least made the bowl was swiftly purged as the rest of her was. She retched and hurled, conscious of Avon leaving the wires and pacing into the bathroom. He could see her like this. He could hear her, heck Cally could probably hear her. She tried to apologise, just as she heard Avon crouch behind her. Large, warm fingers smoothed her hair back from her face, one hand lying flat across her forehead to keep her hair away. The other hand rested on her back, looping in slow circles. “You haven’t eaten properly in two years. Your body is rejecting the food,” Avon explained matter of factly, though not coldly. “Silly girl,” he growled behind her. Maeve’s eyes flew open as she hurled, wanting to turn and ask him about the growl and the words. She would have done, if she were in any way able to do anything else other than throw up her lungs. She was thankful for the hand on her forehead, soothing and heated, keeping her raven hair out of the way, the smooth circles against her back. She could have sworn Avon’s clean shaven cheek was at her ear when he spoke next, “Out with it.”


	2. Hollow Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maeve is getting to like the Liberator, well, anything is better than a Federation penal colony. It's agreed everyone hates Servalan. She's even made Avon smile (a fact which terrifies Villa) settling in, until a repeated encoded message from what may or may not be the Federation brings her past face to face with her in the form of Blake's most hated enemy, Space Commander Travis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like this chapter, because it pretty much saved my bacon this week anxiety wise! Always thankful for writing & for the amount of lovely writers on here that can take my mind out of itself. 
> 
> Thank you for reading my first chapter. In this chapter I wanted to explore Travis, cause I adore Travis. I think he's so underloved. I love how he comes across in B7 and I've always wondered if there was ever a Mrs Travis, if anyone loved him, did he ever love anyone? At least with Avon we know about Anna Grant and I've tried to work that in, though I don't know how successfully! 
> 
> So I thought I would see what Travis is like when he does have someone to love and how he works with this in relation to his personality and position within the Federation. I also wanted to see Avon's reaction and how Blake might respond. I would love to write more of Travis this way and how Blake might use this against him. Maeve has been imprisoned for 2 years & on the run before that and so would not have had access to reports detailing Travis. But obviously if every comment reads "Travis written by you sucks don't do it again" then I'll rethink that angle!
> 
> I live for comments & kudos to flatter my fragile little ego. 
> 
> nless they are the "wtf do you even know how to spell Travis" type! 
> 
> I also promise at some point to stop referring to TS Elliot in the chapter titles.

The bed underneath her wasn't the thin, lumpy thing of the Federation penal colony, the ceiling above her wasn't the dirt speckled dull white of her cell. Maeve's eyes opened slower and lazier than they had done in the past 2 years, her gaze fixing on the spotless ceiling. It was the same gentle grey as the walls, creating a calming, soothing effect which she supposed helped Blake and his crew relax between death defying stunts to bring down the Federation. Blake and his crew were the reason she'd began to be more overt in her own defiance of the Federation; she'd been a coward too long, only sniping at their rules. When Blake had stood up and been counted, leaving behind a relatively stable existence it had meant something. A shockwave of dissent had run through them all and when it had reached her, Maeve knew she had to do something more than mutter in low tones against the control that held them all locked in their grades. Life had to be something more.

 

She pushed her hands palm down against the thick mattress underneath her and sat up, blinking slowly as she took in the room. It looked as it did last night, far better than anything she'd had even prior to her incarceration. It was still better than anything she'd had working for the Federation and definitely an improvement on her on-the-run digs. Maeve's eyes fell on the desk, where a small pile of clothes had been left. She stilled, checking the room once more for anyone else in it, swearing inwardly that it hadn't been the first thing she'd done. Those clothes hadn't been there last night. Only she and...only she and Avon had been in the room last night, maybe he'd left them when he... Oh. Maeve's cheeks flamed crimson with sudden shame. When he'd left after she'd thrown up enough of her insides to form a whole other person. As if to confirm that she had indeed embarrassed herself in this way, her stomach gave her a helpful warning ache. "Idiot," she told herself, though she frowned immediately after. Why was she an idiot? Why did it matter if some member of this ship saw her throwing up? Of course she'd be sick eating like that, after 2 years of barely enough. Did it matter who saw her throw up or who saw her collected? She told herself no, feeling an ache in her stomach that had nothing to do with food and slid out of the beautiful bed with regret.

 

Her hip bumped a glass of water resting on the bedside counters recessed into the soft grey walls. It splashed clear liquid onto a brief note resting by the glass. Maeve picked it up, forcing herself to sip at the cool water rather than gulp it down a dry throat like she wanted to.

 

'Do not drink this fast.'

 

Maeve couldn't hide a smirk at that, noting that Avon's neat writing was as controlled as the man seemed to be himself. She understood that; control was what had kept her going these past 2 years in the penal colony, what had kept her surviving the 7 years in the Federation training academy, on Battleground 9, holding down a façade of obedience while working against them. She wondered though, if his control hid something like her own mass of thoughts, circling around like vipers in a nest and at the centre of them, the knowledge that she had failed, forever. Whatever her victories against the Federation had been, were ever worth, they were nothing now. Servalan had won; her family lying dead on the shores of their home planet. Maeve's reputation had won her a dead family. She had one surviving family member left, that was it. The rest had been murdered by her own stupidity, her own failure to protect those she loved. Tears threatened at the corner of her eyes. It would be so easy to sink back down on that bed and give in, let it drown her. Family dead, because of her. Just me, she thought, her brother lost somewhere in the Federation.

 

Before she'd started doing anything too overt she'd searched for him, hunted for him in the Federation data banks. He'd been wiped clean, no trace of him existing anywhere. He hadn't died, she knew that, otherwise his service record would show that. There was nothing. No record of his entrance into their battalion, his command training. Nothing. Her brother had ceased to exist and now she, the last surviving member, had become the walking dead. A non-entity, both of them. Maybe they were still the same after all.

 

Maeve sniffed loudly, pinching the bridge of her nose, forcing herself to breathe slow and steady once more. The rising waves of fear and devestation began to subside from their choking grip. There was no time for giving in to the devestation she felt, no place for it. Winners could grieve. She, she was nothing but a loser, one whose family had paid the ultimate price while she stayed standing. But she had a direction at least, she thought, easing her pinching grip and slowly stretching out the muscles in her back and legs. Servalan. She would die as painfully, as slowly as Maeve was sure she'd made her family suffer. The Federation would collapse inwards at the death of the President but it was secondary to the overriding need to see Servalan suffer. Maeve snarled, clenching her fists inwards until the knuckles were blood white.

 

"Maeve," Blake's voice cut in sharply over her thoughts. "Come in...if you're awake," he added after a moment.

 

Maeve found herself smiling, surprised at it creeping onto her face like it had any right to belong there. "I could hardly come in if I wasn't awake could I?" she replied, pressing the communicator on the desk down.

 

A rich, deep laugh cut in over the top of Blake's reply, sounding like whisky over ice down whiskers. "She has you there, Blake." Avon.

 

Her eyes dropped to the clothes resting on the desk. She was still dressed in her prison outfit, stripping it quickly now as she listened to Blake bicker. Her reflection in the mirror opposite caught her attention suddenly, seeing herself for the first time in 2 years. She was slimmer than she would have liked, the muscle tone she'd always had from years of playfighting and pre-training with her brother gone. Still, weight could be put back on and she still remembered her brothers' carefully disciplined routine. The Liberator would have some form of equipment somewhere in its vast banks she could use. Her raven hair was currently loose, falling in unruly waves down her back, making her tut as she hunted for something to hold it back with. It was longer than she'd ever had it, making her face look a little rounder. Considering the weight loss it wasn't altogether a bad thing. Her eyes caught her though, they looked haunted. Good. Good, let them be haunted, let her see it every time she looked in the mirror. Murderer. Her father, her mother, her little sister, her baby brother. Ravko hadn't even been 5. Maeve stuffed a fist into her mouth to stop the sob that rose up, forcing herself to listen to Villa now weighing in on Blake's bickering. Avon's sarcasm drifted over them both as Maeve stepped into the shower, eyeing the controls with trepidation. The fact that it was a single shower, with no long row of inmates next to her and no Federation Guards on the borders of it had her resting her head against the cool panelling thankfully for a moment. 

 

She pulled on the clothes a few minutes later, regretting that she hadn't stayed in the shower for the next fourteen years. Black pants that wrapped tightly around her, conforming to her shape before adding padding to her thighs and knees, protecting moving joints and arteries. The tunic was the same color and for a moment when she slipped it on, it felt too tight, touching her stomach, her breasts and her arms, until she remembered for 2 years she'd been wearing a sack. The reflection in the mirror showed her a basic black long sleeved tunic, velveteen padding around her shoulders and wrists. "Nice job, Zen," she murmured, wishing she had one of the weapons she'd seen the others holster back on the bridge of the Liberator. Maeve half fancied the room grew a little warmer, as if Zen had heard. Either that or she was finally losing her mind. Wouldn't the Federation love that? She found something strong enough to hold back her renegade hair and tied it up in the tightest bun she could manage, a slight pain pulling at her temples. Good. It'd help her focus.

 

"There's breakfast...of sorts, if anyone wants it," Blake's pleasantly deep voice came over the comms, "Villa made it though, so don't blame me if it kills you."

 

"I'm sure you did a wonderful job, Villa. I'm just on my way. Maeve?" Cally's kind tones seemed to patter over the air to her, as graceful as the woman herself.

 

"No thank you. I ate more than enough last night," Maeve's voice sounded much more like her own now. Calmer, controlled, louder.

 

"Are you feeling better now?" Avon's deep voice sounded slightly husky. Maeve scratched at the back of her neck, suddenly feeling like she could crawl out of her skin.

 

"Yes. Thank you," she replied, just as Blake's voice leapt across her own, concerned.

 

"Better? What was wrong? I warned you, spend enough time with Avon and you'll feel sick, the rest of us do," Blake joked.

 

"I'm splitting my sides," Avon snapped over the comms.

 

Maeve frowned at Blake's words just as Villa's voice interrupted them all. "I can show you where it is, there's more Soma if you want it?" he offered.

 

"No." Her word was a snap over the airwaves.

 

"Alright, I only asked, more for me," Villa replied pleasantly enough.

 

A few moments later she found him at the end of the long corridor housing the bedchambers, toying with the fringe on his tunic. "I didn't mean to snap. I just can't have anything clouding my mind right now," she apologised.

 

Villa brightened, "You apologised to me? I didn't notice you were snapping, I'm so used to the others. Do you know, very few people apologise to me. I think you're one of my favorites." He grinned at her, an almost innocent thing if it didn't clash with the intelligence she could see lurking in the hazel eyes. "Come on, don't let Blake get at it first, the man eats enough to feed a penal colon...oh...shall I put my other foot in my mouth too?" he excused himself. Maeve gave him as bright a smile as she could manage, shaking her head. 

 

As he walked towards their communal dining space Maeve tried to map out the Liberators' corridors in her mind. It seemed to have a logical enough layout, though she noticed some of the controls and details seemed to be distinctly alien rather than human based. Rumour had it that Blake and his crew had liberated the um...Liberator from an alien species they'd never quite found. But who would let this go? Zen alone would be worth untold billions of credits. He was already far better than most things the Federation had and Orac, well, the second computer was in a universe of its own.

 

"Maeve!" Cally was enthusiastic, nudging out a chair and proffering a plate. Maeve's stomach clenched in memory and she shook her head as she slid into the chair.

 

"You should eat something," Avon instructed, turning a gaze like the first coffee of the morning on her. He held out another plate, with a smaller amount of food, a directive expression on his face. Maeve took the plate silently, leaving Cally to withdraw hers.

 

"I'll take that, thanks Cally!" Villa announced, helping himself to it before Cally had a chance. He dropped into his seat and nodded at Blake. "So, what's our next big mission? We've rescued the damsel in distress, now what?"

 

"I am not a damsel in distress," Maeve snapped, making most of the members at the table look up sharply. Only Avon, his gaze on his food, smirked.

 

"No-one sensible said you were," Blake reassured, frowning at Villa. "I have a few things lined up."

 

"Do you vote on this ship?" Maeve asked suddenly, looking up from her food. Avon was staring at her, her gaze locking onto his. His eyes were so controlled, she noted, as if he allowed himself a certain amount of looking at something. He looked away and then at Blake. "If so, if you'll have me, I have a direction we might go?"

 

Blake frowned slightly, running his hand over his stubbled cheek. "What are you thinking?"

 

"Blake is our...well, he makes most of the decisions," Cally offered lightly.

 

"We allow him to," Avon's clipped words made her smile, before it dropped from her face like a stone into a pond. She needed them to follow her mission now. One mission. That's all she wanted.

 

"Go on," Blake continued.

 

"Servalan."

 

Blake gave her an easy grin, bright and wide in his whiskered face. "Then you'll do well with us, we're always trying to take Servalan down."

 

"I don't want Servalan taken down. I want her killed. I want a bullet between her eyes and I want to be the one to do it," Maeve snapped. Avon raised his gaze from staring at the wall opposite where he'd been working through calculations to improve the Liberators' force wall, turning his eyes on Maeve. The emerald eyes were icy, brutal, a viciousness he recognised. He had seen the same warriors' fire in Dayna's eyes, the same viciousness in his own reflection. Maeve's gaze shifted to him and his knees hit the underside of the table, before he dug violently into his food.

 

"That's not all that far from what we want," Blake told her carefully, "May I ask why?" His voice was gentle but curious, one large hand sliding across the table to tap her wrist. "We will get her, I promise you."

 

"She killed people I love," Maeve said flatly, her voice devoid of emotion, devoid of anything. The sound of the dead voice speaking sent a chill down Cally's spine, making her shiver.

 

She wrapped her hands around herself and turned to Maeve. "I'm very sorry, we all are. If there's anything I can do," she offered.

 

"I appreciate the sentiment," Maeve said respectfully, "But sentiment doesn't help me. Sorry means nothing until Servalan is dead."

 

"An admirable stance," Avon replied, "Your record certainly shows that you are capable."

 

"I think you'll find I'm more than capable," Maeve returned.

 

"Oh, I'm sure you are." She was treated to a brilliant smile from Avon, one that seemed to brighten the Liberator itself. His face transformed, creases appearing around his chocolate and caramel eyes and she couldn't look away.

 

"Well would you look at that?" Villa interrupted, "Avon smiled! I'm happy you're with us, Maeve, anyone that can make Avon smile terrifies the hell out of me!" Maeve erupted in giggles at that, turning her own smile onto Villa. Avon's smile disappeared abruptly as her eyes left his, his own eyes resting on the heart shaped face, the sound of her laughter brand new.

 

"Blake," Dayna's voice seemed to stir them all, interrupting Maeve's giggles and Villa's jokes.

 

"Go ahead, Dayna."

 

"There's an incoming transmission, new encoding, requesting an answer."

 

Blake and Avon looked at each other, "Federation?" Blake questioned.

 

Avon shook his head, "Why not use their own codes and identify themselves as the Federation? It is unlike them to play mind games. They haven't the mind."

 

Blake snorted with laughter, stretching back in his seat with an arm around the back of Avon's and an empty chair, looking for all the world like the lord of the manor. "Alright, Dayna, we're coming. Avon, have you finished your updates to the force wall?"

 

Avon shook his head, "Almost. The decompensator has decoupled."

 

"That's de-pressing," Villa cracked, laying heavy emphasis on the word. Maeve snorted with laughter, clapping a hand over her mouth as she heard it escape.

 

"I will have to rectify it," Avon remarked, shaking his head not unkindly at Villa. A smirk touched the full lips, thinning them into something on the sinful side of sardonic. Maeve's hands twisted in her lap at the sight of it, before she focused her attention on sipping at the water Villa had placed in front of her.

 

**

 

Dayna leant against her console, frowning as her conversation with Orac proved to be as frustrating as ever. It hadn't provided her with anything else about the transmission other than it was being broadcast repeatedly. "It isn't a distress signal?" she asked for the third time.

 

"It is not encoded as one," Orac said unhelpfully.

 

"Maybe they didn't have time to encode it correctly while dying?" she offered mildly sarcastically, biting her lip.

 

"The circumstances around the encoding do not alter the fact that it is not encoded as a distress signal," Orac repeated.

 

Avon's measured footsteps alerted her to his presence as he entered, Blake bounding behind him like a lion. "You are not asking him the right questions," Avon remarked, before he took his place behind his console and knelt, unhooking a panel from the console and looking into it with interest. "Decoupled," he affirmed to himself, pulling out the offending part. Blake's bounds took him to the middle of the room where he eyed Orac with the same frustration.

 

"Well, is it a distress signal? Do they need help? Who is it?"

 

"Which question do you want answering first?" Orac suggested, sounding just as smug as Zen.

 

Blake rolled his eyes. "Is it Federation encrypted?"

 

"The transmission bears hallmarks of the Federation code however it is not expressly Federation semantics. Universal semantics details there must therefore be hallmarks of this code within all known..."

 

"Yes, alright," Blake interrupted, before Orac could proceed to tell him the origins of semantics. "Dayna, have you learnt anything else from it?"

 

Maeve kept her pace with Cally, having to slow herself down to match the graceful walk of the other woman. "I am sorry though," Cally said softly, "I know what the death of those you love feels like and...and I would not wish it on another. When you are ready, I will listen to you, if you wish." Maeve paused, biting back the automatic dismissal. Of course Cally had some understanding; she'd lost her family on Auron, she'd lost Auron.

 

"Thank you," she replied instead, her dark green eyes meeting the gentle gaze of the other. "I...I don't know what to say right now." That at least was the truth. She didn't know how she began to explain what this felt like or how much she wanted to give in to the sorrow that had choked her for the past eight days. Somehow Cally seemed to know that and simply gave her a welcoming, warm smile.

 

Now that she'd slept, the bridge of the Liberator seemed even more impressive than it had yesterday. The immense viewscreen to her right showed the blinking brilliance of Zen, Orac occupying a low bench in front of the plush couches ringing the consoles. Behind one of them she could just see the dark, midnight brushed hair of Avon as he knelt, working at something. As she came level with him she could see the decompensator in his hand, components gathered neatly on the floor and a circuit board by his foot. Interested, she paused, looking down at the circuit board and the decompensator he held in his hand. Cally continued on past to stand next to Blake as they looked down at Zen's readout of the transmission currently bouncing off their hull. "It is repeated often," Cally remarked.

 

"Either a demand or a request then?" Blake replied.

 

"It is unclear," she finished.

 

Avon glanced at them, his upper lip curling at the imprecise information. Cally was a useful individual on board the Liberator thanks to her extra skills, skills he himself did not possess and were therefore remarkable. However her imprecise impressions left something to be desired at times. One could hardly fight something unclear. He became aware of two black booted feet and spoke without looking up. "I have told you before, standing over me is one of your more irritating characteristics and you have many."

 

"Hey, I'm over here!" Villa exclaimed, appearing from the corridor, "Next thing, Avon, you'll be telling me off for breathing."

 

"It would be helpful if you could do it without sounding like fourteen Federation guards at once," Avon remarked with a twist of his lips, before he looked up to see who the person standing over him was. The black booted feet led onto calves and curvy thighs, his dark eyes snapping away just in time.

 

"Sorry," Maeve muttered, not sounding sorry at all as she crouched next to him. A strand of raven hair had fallen out of the tight bun at the base of her neck Avon noticed. It curled wildly, the darkness contrasting with her fair skin. "Why is the decompensator out?"

 

Blake winced, hearing Maeve ask. It was usually wiser to leave Avon well alone when he was tinkering, though the man himself would turn scathing looks on whoever dared to call it that. He blinked in surprise as he heard Maeve's next words.

 

"I mean, I can see it's decoupled, but if you fix it in situ it might reduce the workload for the capacitors," she offered quietly. Blake turned, wanting to see Avon's reaction. Avon sat back on his knees and pointed to the circuit board next to him.

 

"The capacitors are also out, though I have already thought of that. There is a resistor spanning the bridge here that reduces the workload for the capacitors when I reinstall them," he explained, the inflections of his words washing over the small space between his face and Maeve's as she now knelt next to him. He paused, stilled, raising eyes like the depths of forests at eveningtide to her. Maeve wasn't looking at him though, she was leaning forward into the casing he'd left, peering up at the resistor he'd spoken about. His gaze instead swept the curving expanse of her back, the swell of her hips before her...he coughed, making Maeve turn back, almost knocking her head on the casing. She ducked to miss it and blushed a little, the faintest shadow of dusty rose touching her cheekbones. He swallowed and grinned, showing her the faint dimples at the corners of his lips. "You know something about computers then." Her blush deepened as her eyes fell on the circuit board, fingers reaching to pick it up.

 

"My dad used to tinker," here Blake winced twice as hard, "With computers and robotics all his life. When I was little he and I built this..." her eyes filled with tears and she looked away sharply.

 

"He is one of the people Servalan killed," Avon surmised. She nodded and he watched as her face closed down, closed over, in a mask he recognised as his own.

 

"He is. He taught me everything I know about computers , robots, most things with an artificial intelligence. I wanted...I always wanted to go study it you know? If I'd have stayed in the Federation I was going to transfer to their AI research labs." Blake looked up at this, interested, leaning over the top of the console to where Avon and Maeve were kneeling.

 

"So why didn't you?" he asked. "If you have AI skills, then I'm sure Avon would appreciate someone who can understand him."

 

"Yeah, I just nod my head," Villa interjected from the couches, where he cradled a glass of Soma.

 

"Thank you, Villa," Avon cracked, "A most astute observation as ever." Villa grinned, before realising the sarcasm dripping behind the words. Maeve giggled though, so Villa copped it on the chin. She looked over the console at him with brighter eyes than he'd seen. Alright, he'd give Avon that one. Only that one, mind you.

 

"I...my brother and I enrolled in the forces together. He said they'd give me basic training, teach me how to fight and look after myself. He wanted me to be able to look after myself before I transferred over to AI Research," she said softly, glancing at Avon. "He...he isn't like the res...he's still alive. I tried to search for him when I started...this..." she pointed around at the Liberator, gesturing to their shared bond. "But he was nowhere. His records have been wiped clean from the system."

 

"Wiped clean?" Blake interrupted, "That's impossible isn't it Avon? The Federation would have some kind of record of everyone working for it, right down to what food they ate."

 

"Not impossible. Improbable," Avon replied, toying with the question in his mind as a statistical probability while the bulk of his attention returned to the decompensator in his hand.

 

"I didn't know you had a brother," Villa rested his head on the top of the couch and looked at her. "Nice is he? 6 foot 7? Doesn't like people talking to his sister? Built?" Maeve laughed, shaking her head.

 

"He's about 6 foot 3 and he was always the best to me," she replied, her face a soft light. "He taught me how to fight." She blinked away the sudden agony that rose up in her, shoving it back down into a hard knot in her stomach and looked again at the circuit board. "You put a tyrdium link in here?" she asked, brightening with interest. "I didn't know these could operate in standard circuit boards? Dad tri...we tried it once but it overreacted the core in our project."

 

Avon gave a slight smile, the corners of his lips barely moving, but his voice was interested when he spoke. "Because this is not a standard circuit board, see here?" He turned the board over so she could see the ionic coupling links attached either side of his improvement.

 

"Are those ionic?!" she exclaimed, reaching out for them, before she considered Avon might not like her touching what he was currently fixing. This time the dark eyes warmed, embers of a fire resting in them as he looked down at her. She looked up from under her dark hair, which was rapidly escaping from her bun and the emerald eyes glittered with interest and intelligence. The smirk that curled his lips then was surprised to find itself there.

 

"Yes. There's an ionic generator on the ship, in the main control room. Do you want to see?" Maeve's eyes lit up and the smirk grew wider.

 

"Blake, the signal has changed again," Dayna interrupted, making all of them look up. "It's constant now, one line of unencrypted text."

 

"Zen, visual of the text," Blake commanded, standing up straight.

 

'Blake, requesting urgent reply, personal nature, Blake, Liberator crew'

 

"Message repeats," Zen intoned.

 

"An urgent reply for a personal question?" Blake questioned, resting back against the console Avon was now standing up from, still holding the circuit board, Maeve in tow.

 

"Cally," Avon instructed, "What are you picking up behind it?"

 

Cally frowned, "Rage and worry."

 

"I don't like the sound of those. Ignore it," Villa suggested.

 

The signal repeated consistently, the text remaining on visual. "Zen, identify where it's coming from."

 

"I've already done that!" Dayna corrected, showing Blake the printout, though Zen was already speaking.

 

"Grid reference 1.02.35 ship registering as Federation. Encryption not Federation standard."

 

"Avon, we need that force wall before I'm answering this signal," Blake reprimanded, earning him a scathing look from Avon.

 

"I need an ionic relay. Maeve, I can show you while I fetch our illustrious leader his force wall," he instructed. Maeve nodded and fell into step easily next to him, still holding the circuit board. She gave the visual text a glance as they left, turning it over in her thoughts as she eyed the board.

 

"Why ionic though? What made you think of it over adarium?" she asked. Avon gave her the same surprised smirk and tapped the circuit board with a thick finger, his knuckles dusting over her hand as he did so. Her skin seemed to burn where his knuckles had dusted.

 

"Information," Zen intoned a few minutes later, interrupting Blake and Dayna poring over the visual text once more. As things went, it was both direct and ambiguous.

 

"Go on."

 

"Human audio now available."

 

"Well go on then, let's have it!" Blake barked.

 

"Blake."

 

The voice was male and filled with an ice cold fury fuelled by years of an obsessive hatred.

 

"Travis," Blake snapped, "I might have known it was you. Only you would be so stupid. Zen, get us out of here. Standard by three. Cally, activate the force wall." Cally obediently tapped the buttons, though she knew the force wall wouldn't activate until Avon returned with the part. "Avon, return," Blake barked. Travis was aware of the force wall though and it would make him think twice about launching anything.

 

"NO! Wait..." His voice was still full of rage, still hatefilled, but it was touched with something Blake had never heard in Travis' voice before. "Blake. For once I'm not here to kill you, though mark my words, that time will come."

 

"I'll wait with baited breath. Zen, standard by..."

 

"Wait!" Travis barked, "Confirm you have taken Mae...the Shadow... from Penal Colony Eight."

 

Blake ran a hand over his stubble, glancing sharply at the corridor through which Avon and Maeve would return shortly. Travis had known Maeve's real name, catching himself almost just in time to substitute it for her handle. Cally came to stand by him, her delicate eyebrows furrowing as she reached for Travis' mind.

 

"Zen, give us a visual," Blake commanded. In the next second an image of Travis appeared. He was slouched in the command chair aboard his Federation cruiser. Around him mutoids worked away at the actual controlling of the ship, leaving him like a lazy king in the middle. He was dressed head to toe in onyx, the only splash of color the Federation logo emblazoned on his command uniform. A patch hid one eye from them, slightly messing the raven hair that swept back from a high forehead. His good eye glared at them, filled with hatred. His lips were a firm line but the expression on his face was one Blake had never seen before. Worry.

 

"There you are," Travis said, leaning forward slightly, folding his hands between his knees. "Confirm you have taken Shadow. Is she...is Shadow alive?"

 

Cally rested a hand on Blake's forearm as he leant forward himself. "Shadow is under our protection. She will not be returned to Federation custody." He flicked a switch on the console to allow his voice to carry through the ship. Avon and Maeve, running back, heard the last part of the sentence. Avon's gun slipped neatly from his holster into his hand as they ran, hearing the words.

 

"Listen to me," Travis snapped, "Is she alive? Unharmed?"

 

"Blake...he...he doesn't mean to hurt her," Cally said, confusion clouding her face.

 

"Travis doesn't want to hurt someone?" Blake announced, spinning round to face the one eyed asshole of his dreams with an astounded look on his face. "Turn over a new leaf did you? Want to join us?"

 

"I will join you in Hell," Travis promised. "Cally, is she alive?" He turned his attention to the woman, glaring at her.

 

"Yes," Cally replied, responding to the worry evident in Travis' voice. As he heard the word she felt relief wash over her. "Unharmed," she added. Relief again.

 

"I want to see her."

 

"She will not be returned to Federation custody, you'll have to come through us" Blake snapped, hearing Avon and Maeve's footsteps as they ran through the corridor. He raised his voice slightly, "Avon, keep Maeve..."

 

"T?"

 

Travis stopped dead, in the middle of a sentence about how he'd gladly go through Blake like a knife through the mans' eyeballs which one day mark you, he would do. He launched forward from the command chair, almost crashing into the screen. The taller man was gracefully violent in his movements, but this movement was fervent, hurried, not his usual slow, condensed style. Avon had been reaching out with a hand to hold Maeve back, but she'd ducked under his hand and run.

 

She ran close to the visual before the wall of the ship stopped, her, reaching up a hand. "T! T...it's you, isn't it?"

 

"Hallo, little Shadow," Travis growled softly. Tears filled her eyes, reaching up towards the visual. "Are you okay? Hurt?"

 

Avon's spine had turned to ice, his blood to glaciers, thudding infinitesimally through his chest. The look on Travis' face was one of softness, of happiness, of love. It made him sick to his stomach. She...she and Travis? He circled the consoles until he was a little distance from her side, judging her expression. She was crying but not unhappily, her hands reaching for the visual. There was also love in her face, adoration, hero worship. Of Travis. Travis' hand was extended too, reaching towards the screen.

 

"I'm alright, T, I'm good. They're looking after me."

 

"You know who you're with right? That's Roj Blake. A liar, a murderer."

 

"And those are just his good points," Villa quipped.

 

"And Villa the coward," Travis snapped.

 

"I like Villa," Maeve interrupted them and if Blake's mouth could have dropped open any further, it would have. It would have fallen through the floor of the Liberator and out into space as Travis acquiesced, shrugging, directing a blinding grin at Maeve.

 

"There's no accounting for taste, little one," he remarked affectionately.

 

"Well no, I mean I like you, don't I?" Maeve quipped easily, making Travis head tip back as he roared with laughter. It occurred to Blake, currently rescuing his jaw, that he had never heard Travis actually laugh like that. Evil, sadistic laughter yes, amused by their impending deaths yes, but not this. 

 

"She likes me!" Villa exclaimed behind them. "No-one likes me. Maeve, you're my new favourite. The rest of you..." he gave them a dismissive wave and Dayna would have laughed, if her jaw wasn't also on the floor. A freezing rage was creeping over Avon.

 

"You're too skinny," Travis growled then, leaning closer still.

 

"Well I was in a penal colony. They don't exactly go in for food," Maeve replied. "Look at you..." She wiped the tears falling from her eyes. "Look at you, T, are you okay? Are you alright?" Blake thought he'd forgotten how to breathe. He wasn't sure whether he should laugh or explode as Maeve's voice became softer, gentler, protective. Of Travis.

 

"Yeah, yeah little Shadow I'm alright. I'm better than alright. I'm the King." Blake snorted so hard he thought he may have blown his brains out. Travis' eyes lifted from Maeve, looking beyond to Blake where they hardened to an obsessive hate.

 

"Hey," Maeve said, as Travis' face turned slightly from her, seeing the patch covering his other eye. "What happened to your eye?" Travis turned back fully, his gaze softening once more.

 

"Ever the little nursemaid huh?" Travis muttered softly. Avon's bile rose violently in his throat, mixing with the clenching, cold rage drenching him. Travis and Maeve. Travis shrugged, pointing to Blake behind Maeve. "Your man there is responsible for that."

 

Maeve whirled on him, "You hurt him?!"

 

Blake's jaw fell somewhere through the bottom of the universe as she turned on him with fire in her eyes, her gaze shifting to the holstered guns. "What?! Yes. Yes I hurt him! I'd kill him if he was right here, Maeve, do you have any idea who that is?"

 

"It's T," she said obviously.

 

"T? T! That's Space Commander Travis!" Blake roared.

 

Maeve whirled back, "You made...you made Space Commander? I thought you were going to lea.."

 

Avon stepped forward, gun raised, pointing it straight at Maeve as Blake held up a hand. "Halt, Avon. I want explanations first. T? Little Shadow?"

 

Maeve looked confused, glancing between them. "That's where I got Shadow from, Blake. It has a few rumors but T always used to call me his little shadow cause I used to follow him around all the time."

 

"You still can," Travis offered, growling softly behind her.

 

Avon waved the gun, drawing her eyes. "You are with Travis," he snapped. "I should have known. Blake, this is the last time we rescue one of your political prisoners. Give me one good reason I shouldn't kill you on the spot."

 

Maeve stared at him, hurt decorating every line of her face Avon noticed. Anna. Anna and Bartholomew. Playing a game, hiding it the whole time. Maeve. Maeve and Travis. Playing a game, hiding it from them the whole time. Hiding it from him. Shouldn't care, just met the woman. Didn't care. Blake was standing there like a wounded lion, looking confused, face flashing between Avon, Travis and Maeve. "Avon," Maeve said softly, looking at the weapon in his hand, then the fury painting every handsome line of that face, like a warriors god. "What have I done wrong?"

 

Avon gave her a cruel smile, "Oh, very good. I suggest you keep your innocent act for Blake, he's more likely to believe it than I am. You've been in league with the Federation this whole time, probably haven't even been in the penal colony."

 

"I've been imprisoned for 2 years, Avon," Maeve snapped, fire rising to her eyes. Behind her, Travis commanded one of the mutoids to raise weapons on the Liberator.

 

"Force wall," Avon snarled automatically, keeping his weapon trained on Maeve. "Do you really think I, we would believe that Travis would keep his...whatever you are, behind bars?"

 

"AVON" Travis roared from the visual, "I didn't know where she was...I didn't KNOW. I haven't seen Shad in over..."

 

"6 years," Maeve murmured sadly, keeping her eyes on Avon.

 

"My heart bleeds for you," Avon snarled, "I am sure Travis and you will be very happy together."

 

"Avon..." There was such an innocence in her tone, such a wounded face. Anna. Anna and her wounded face. Anna claiming she'd loved him all along.

 

"NO." His roar was low, rough, drawn out, growled and ravaged through his throat. The gun came up, turned to one side, the handle of the gun catching her cheek, intended to stun. Cally dove for them, guessing Avon's train of thought. She knocked Maeve out of the way of Avon's gun, which merely turned to follow her. Maeve's cheek stained a dark purple, Travis barking at one of the mutoids viciously to take aim, roaring out Avon's name. 

 

Blake watched Maeve stumble back from Avon's gun, Cally diving in front of her. Cally's movement had stalled him, she wouldn't have moved to protect Maeve if the woman really was in league with Travis. There was something else about them, something else about the way Maeve had looked at him, the hero worship in her eyes. The way she was staring at Avon a fraction more than Travis, a hurt painting her face that had nothing to do with the bruise. She looked on the verge of tears, though he knew tears could be faked and manipulated. But this didn't feel right. The revolutionary Shadow in league with Space Commander Travis. Shadow, who'd opened Penal Colony One and freed the ones inside, who'd overthrown the Federation media station. Travis, if she'd been in league with him all along, Travis would have never allowed those things, not even if it furthered the Federations cause. He believed in total war too much for underhanded revolutionary dealings. One chance then.

 

Blake stepped between the gun and Maeve. "Maeve, it's important you answer me right now. Who is this? Who do you think he is?"

 

"You're asking her? Are you blind, Blake? Her curves turn your eye did they?" Avon's voice was a violent snarl, ripping through the suddenly still space of the Liberator.

 

"AVON" Travis thundered.

 

Avon glared at them, making sure that Maeve could see him just over Blake's shoulder. "You are no better than the Federation," he swore. "I would wish a slow and painful death but that's really more your lovers' affair isn't it? When they all see, in about ten minutes from now when Travis docks and takes the Liberator, you will be responsible for what follows. An adroit stunt you pulled, working for the Federation while working against them. You'll forgive me if I don't applaud," He growled viciously, his eyes a fierce, savage blazing darkness that she couldn't look away from. His upper lip curled, disgusted, before he glanced once at Blake and stormed the corridor. "Tell him I'll be waiting for him."

 

"My lover?" Maeve asked, incredulity filling her voice. "My...T, Blake...who do you think he is?" The hatred in Travis' eyes as he looked at Blake suddenly flashed into her memory. Somehow they knew each other, hated each other. Somehow her knowing T was one of the worst things she could do aboard the Liberator. Maeve's eyes roved between Dayna, Cally, Blake and Villa. Only Cally's face looked remotely friendly. Villa and Dayna's faces were cold and Blake's angry, confused. Avon's face...the bruise on her cheek. Don't. He'd kill her. "He isn't my lover, Blake....who is he to you?"

 

"I asked first," Blake snapped. "Unless you want us to start following Avon's lead." She stared at him, genuine confusion in her eyes. Blake gestured, "Go on."

 

"But this is..." she turned to look at Travis. "This is my brother, Travis. I mentioned him at breakfast this morning, I told you I couldn't find him? I haven't seen him in 6 years, I thought he was...I...this is my brother, Blake."

 

Blake stared at Travis, the puzzle piece that had nagged him slipping into place. Raven hair, both of them. The same heart shaped face, Travis' altered by the shorter hair and the ravages of war, including the wounds Blake himself had given him. As Maeve stood facing him and Travis stood on the visual behind her he noticed they stood in the same way. Military bearing, both of them. There was enough genetic similiarity between them to suggest siblings. "He's my older brother. The rest..." It hit her like a tidal wave that she'd have to explain to her older brother that the youngest was dead, that their parents were. That nothing was left of their family save them because she had failed. Shame hit her in a shockwave and she stumbled on her feet.

 

"Little Shadow, you alright?" Travis growled softly. Blake's mouth would never cease dropping open. More than anything else, it was Travis' behaviour with her. The gentle tone, the soft growl. The urgent, worried voice just wanting to know if she was okay. An older brother, worried about his little sister.

 

"I..." Maeve watched Blake's face as the hatred, obsessive and dark splashed across it. "You hate him, don't you Blake?" He nodded without taking his eyes off Travis. "Why? Who is he to you?"

 

"What does it matter?" Travis barked. "Get your things and get to the docking station. I'll have you off the Liberator and with me in ten minutes, Avon was right about that. You and me, Maeve, together again." Maeve's face lit with hope.

 

"Together?" she looked back at Blake.

 

"Maeve, I know you've only just met me, but to go with this man is to sign your death warrant, brother or not," Blake urged violently. Maeve watched him, looked into his eyes.

 

"Your records are gone from the system, T," she stated, turning back to Travis. "Why are they gone?"

 

"I'll tell you later," Travis promised. "Now come aboard. The Federation will take you back. Servalan has promised a free pardon."

 

Maeve froze, every bone and nerve in her body turning to solid ice. She stared at Blake. "Servalan?" she whispered.

 

"Yes," Blake said roughly, though not unkindly. "Space Commander Travis is President Servalan's Federation mercenary. He does whatever his master commands. Travis is responsible for massacres, even unsanctioned ones. He and I are old friends."

 

"I'm touched," Travis announced. "Maeve, get your things. Blake, your crew can live this once if you hand me my sister."

 

Blake watched the horror in her eyes, the memories of her dead family replay in them. She shook, as white as snow in front of him. Tears flooded the emerald eyes, her lip wobbling as she turned back to Travis. "You...you're working for Servalan?"

 

Travis' dark eye fixed on her with a slight smile, "Yes. Not for her strictly, Maeve, I'm not one of her dogs. She recognises my talents. We have a mutual goal, to see the destruction of people like Blake."

 

"I'm a person like Blake," she whispered.

 

"And Servalan has promised you a full pardon," Travis stated calmly. "2 years in the penal colony has been judged to be adequate for the restoration of your aberration. And I'll help you."

 

"My abberation? I believe in freedom and justice!" she exclaimed. 

 

"I am justice," Travis stated simply, as if the matter were done and dusted. "With me, little Shadow, I'll give you absolution." 

 

Cally and Dayna's hands hovered near their weapons, Villa's fingers already curled around his, half out of the holster. Only Blake remained with his hands on his hips, though the weapon was obvious. Cally's eyes narrowed as Maeve felt the forceful push of the Aurons' abilities against her mind.

 

"T," Maeve's voice was thick and choked, "You're working for Servalan?"

 

"Yes," he repeated, slouching back in his command chair and waving his hand around the not inconsiderable bridge of the Federation cruiser. "Not my normal ship, but adequate enough. Look around, Maeve, look at their ruined glory and then look at me. Security, strength, safety. You'll be safe."

 

Maeve's fingers scratched at her cheeks as she looked up, "Servalan killed our family. She ordered an attack, T, she attacked them because of me, because of my...of what I've done." Blake winced in sympathy, taking a step closer. Cally's light footsteps tripped down beside him.

 

"Blake," she hissed, the older man tilting his head towards her. "She doesn't know anything about Travis. She's telling the truth."

 

"She wrote me a letter in the penal colony," Maeve repeated, her voice dead and empty now as she swayed on her feet, keeping her jade eyes on her brothers' impassive face as he listened. "Servalan told me she'd ordered the attack, had them killed and...and she added she'd made sure there were no survivors herself."

 

"Oh, Maeve," Dayna murmured quietly behind her. Maeve turned at the sound and looked at Dayna while tears stained her cheeks to a glistening sheen.

 

"I know...I know you've all suffered," Maeve replied, catching her breath in one huge sigh and trying to stop the rising tidal wave in her throat. "But...she wrote....she wrote that my...my little sister, wrote she had a pretty bedroom for the sister of a serial killer. She was in...she was in her bedroom T. She stood in that bedroom and she killed Jessa." Maeve tried to wipe her eyes, knowing that when her brother heard the truth about his boss, he'd be as devastated as she was. She was yet to understand how he came to be working for someone like her. Space Commander yes, even a killer, yes. They'd both killed. They were both on the darker side of the moral spectrum. But Servalan? Her back heaved with another sigh as she forced herself to stop. T would need her when this news hit him.

 

"I know," Travis barked.

 

Maeve blinked, turned to Blake, read the registering of disgust, hatred for Travis and the understanding dawn in his own eyes that Travis had known about the murder of his family.

 

"You knew?" she whispered, her voice small.

 

"I knew," Travis repeated, "Sacrifices needed to be made." He spoke like the Federation, she thought dimly. He looked like the Federation too, all in black, only half his face really visible to her, hiding. He'd been hiding all along.

 

"Sacrifices!" Blake yelled behind her, "Your own damn family, Travis!"

 

"You knew," Maeve whispered again, before taking another deep, ravaging breath that shook her spine. "SHE WAS IN HER ROOM, TRAVIS. RAVKO IS...HE COULDN'T EVEN WALK YET," she roared. Her face was a fierce mask of control as she turned to Blake, only her eyes giving her away. "Blake..."

 

"I'm very sorry for your loss," Blake growled, "Believe me I am. I'm also sorry that you had to find out the truth about your brother like this, or at all." She nodded, wrapping her arms tightly around herself as she turned back to Travis.

 

"Maeve, listen to me. These dramatics are all very well and good, you can have them aboard here. Sacrifices have to be made. War demands commitment."

 

"You're not even sorry, are you?" Maeve asked quietly, "Does it even hurt?" Travis' face remained impassive.

 

"I am a warrior," Travis replied, an edge of roughness to his voice. "I will give my all."

 

"You are an idiot," Blake spat, "Servalan will spit you out the moment she has no use for you."

 

"I am always useful," Travis interjected snidely, throwing a barb of hate Blake's way. "Enough. Shadow, check the docking."

 

Maeve remained where she was, staring up at the visual. Travis loomed larger than life on the screen above her. Behind her, she could hear Cally repeating to Blake that Maeve was telling the truth, she knew nothing about Travis. Cally was right, she thought, she did know nothing about Travis. The older brother who'd trained her months and months in the cold rain, who'd told her the Federation army would keep her safe. He'd known of her grumblings against the Federation when she was a teen, but they'd been lost to each other in the years she'd become active. Wait...

 

"If Servalan is willing to give me a full pardon," she said quietly.

 

"Maeve, no!" Blake lunged forward, catching hold of her arm around the wrist and half expecting her to buck him. She inclined her head his way, the dark green eyes roving over his face, holding onto his eyes like a drowning woman.

 

"I don't mean that," she murmured.

 

"Blake! You keep your poison out of her head!" Travis snarled, leaning forward now so that his frame filled most of the visual. Behind him Maeve could just see the mutoids going about their duties; unthinking, unfeeling, mute. Perfect slaves of the Federation, of Servalan. Her shoulders shook once more and she swallowed, forcing it down. Not now, not yet. Travis. Travis with Servalan. Family dead. Sacrifices have to be made.

 

"Blake," Cally said reassuringly, her curls tipping to one side as she looked for Avon.

 

"If Servalan is willing to give me a full pardon, then she must have known where I was," Maeve stated. "Which means she must have told you. She wouldn't have been able to resist seeing your reaction. You lied. You did know where I was."

 

"Ah, she has Servalan down to a fine art," Dayna approved, her hands resting comfortably behind her back now, moving to Maeve's other side. "Do you, Travis?"

 

Travis ignored her, the baleful mahogany eye focusing on his little sister. "Yes. Yes, she told me where you were."

 

"And you let your own sister rot in a penal colony for 2 YEARS!" Blake roared, almost pushing Maeve aside to confront Travis. "The conditioning, the beatings, the final sanctions...you knew she was going through that! I never thought I'd say this, but that's twisted even for you, Travis."

 

"You didn't want to come get me?" The words slipped out before she could stop them and as soon as she heard them, she was ashamed. She was a renegade, a rebel, a political revolutionary. She didn't ask why her brother hadn't come to save her. But for a second, she was just his little shadow watching him teach her how to use a blaster. For a second she was just his little sister, Travis applauding loudly, leaping on her back from behind, spinning her around when they'd made the same batallion. Maeve could vaguely hear an intake of breath from Cally, either in embarrassment for her or as the Auron picked up on her mind. That decided her; as welcoming as the woman had been Maeve was no-ones object of pity. Blake watched her straighten, place her hands behind her back and lift her chin, in an almost carbon copy of Travis' own stance. Her raven hair tugged at the by now loose bun as she tipped her head up, regarding him with a dead eyed gaze.

 

"You left me to rot on Eight," she intoned flatly. "You can leave me to rot here, on the Liberator."

 

"I plan to rot as little as possible, thanks very much," Villa quipped and she would have smiled, if she could.

 

Maeve forced a tremor down her spine and nodded at Blake, "If you'll have me, I'd like to stay."

 

"Welcome aboard," Blake replied immediately. She could hear no dissension from the others on the bridge with her, though she noted Avon wasn't present. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Cally's eyes on her, intelligent and gentle.

 

"You seriously want to stay with those rebels?" Travis hissed.

 

"These rebels rescued me from Eight," she replied, in the same flat tone. "Rescued me when my brother left me there to die."

 

"Shad..."

 

"It isn't even that, Travis," Maeve continued coldly, holding his gaze. "Prison I can stand, beatings I can take. You always taught me that, block out the pain, focus on the rage. I could have maybe forgiven you in time. But...I can't and I don't want to forgive you for letting them all die. Jessa...she was so beautiful T. You never saw her much, not like I did. So bright...she was going to be so much better at AI than me, even at that age." Her emerald eyes glittered with unshed tears. "You knew she would kill them. You let her. You don't even feel anything about it."

 

Travis lurched forward from his seat, reaching out for the visual, "Maeve, that isn't..."

 

"How about we just pretend you died too, Travis? You're dead and buried somewhere back home and I'll grieve you. Because whoever you are now, I don't know you. You are as dead to me as they are."

 

Travis said nothing, standing stock still in front of the visual. His face was impassive, the shadowed eye looked down at her. "Choose carefully. You don't want to make an enemy of the Federation, sister dear." There it was, Blake noted, the supercilious evil that coated his every word.

 

"I am already an enemy of the Federation," Maeve ground out the words, letting them fall like knives to the floor of the Liberator. "Didn't you hear? They imprisoned me for my crimes and now I'm out. Now I'm coming for Servalan. Better run and tell your mistress she'll have company soon enough."

 

"Blake," Cally whispered, catching his attention. She nodded sideways at Maeve, Blake following her gaze. Maeve's hands were shaking behind her back and a tic was working away at her jaw. Blake took a step forward, standing next to Maeve and placing a hand on her shoulder.

 

"I think you know where you stand now, don't you Travis? You have thirty seconds before we open fire."

 

Travis remained silent, holding Maeve's gaze. "Are you sure you want to make this choice? If you choose Blake's crew, I can't protect you."

 

"Understood," Maeve snapped. She met Blake's eyes and he could see the fractures in the emerald. "Could...could you please..." she forced each word out, shaking where she stood.

 

"Of course," Blake reassured, sliding a hand around her shoulders. "Villa, force wall. Dayna, if you don't mind, the neutron blasters." Dayna and Villa moved to the respective consoles with quick words of assent and without grumbling, which was rare for Villa. Travis continued his stony silence, never moving his gaze from Maeve even as she looked at Blake. The renegade leader of the Liberator kept his own eyes trained on the Space Commander, filing away the other mans' intense focus. He'd seen that focus on himself of course, but this focus on Maeve could perhaps become something they could use. Damn it, he was thinking like Avon. Pushing away the thought, briefly wondering how Avon was getting on threatening an empty docking bay, Blake held his stare. It was as if Travis were committing Maeve to a locked memory bank, to something he wouldn't allow anyone access to, not even himself.

 

"Commander, their neutron blasters are focused on us." Travis held up a hand, holding his sisters' stare with a stony face.

 

"Disengage," he ordered, turning his back on the screen. Maeve's eyes welled as she drank in his back, the dark sweep of his hair curling at the base of his neck, her brothers' large hands clenching into fists. "Visual off."

 

Zen's visual returned to the emptiness of space, save for the Federation cruiser disengaging from them. "You want me to fire? Cop old Travis a few in his...oh," Villa frowned, twisted his lips, "Shut up Villa." Blake gave a slightly exasperated noise and shook his head at Villa as the cruiser left their space.

 

"Leaving docking range," Zen pointed out.

 

Maeve closed her eyes, scrunching them shut as she heard the noises of the crew around her. Cally, at her side, the womans' gentlness exuding comfort and empathy, none of which Maeve wanted right now. Villa's footsteps moving from the console, his cheery voice commenting in relief that it was glad Travis hadn't tested their partly unprepared force wall. Dayna's footsteps as she crossed in front of the low couches, the swish of her pants moving against the fabric of them. Blake, next to her, the weight of one heavy, warm arm against her shoulders, holding her up more than he could know right now. The scent of the leather he was wearing, the rasp of his whiskers brushing against her cheek as he leant in, the falter in his breath as he ran through the words he could say. What could he say, she thought with her eyes closed, sorry your brother turned out to be in league with Servalan? Sorry you didn't know that this is what he's turned into? Sorry your brother is everything you fight against but most of all we're sorry he doesn't care your family lies beneath so much rubble. "Tell me what you need," he said gruffly after a breath and she was thankful for that, thankful he hadn't said any of those things.

 

She wouldn't cry in front of them, swallowing down the sobs that threatened to strangle her. If she could make it back to her room and close the door then and only then would she allow herself to fall apart. But now that she had committed to the Liberator, she couldn't let them see what she felt right now, let them see her cry. It could have them thinking she was weak, despite her record. Cally maybe, Cally would understand, wouldn't see those tears as weakness but the others. Avon, Avon who she bet never lost that self aware, prepossessed belief in himself. Dayna, the warrior and Villa, far more intelligent than his easy jokes let on. Maybe they wouldn't, but she couldn't take that chance. They had rescued her based on her history, her reputation, not because she was the little sister of Servallan's pet...T...her throat clenched and she turned to face Blake. She couldn't cry; just make it to your room, just make it to your room. Blake's chocolate hued eyes traced over her face briefly, a muscle tugging his lips into a warm half smile. "Come on."

 

"Oh , Blake," she whispered, folding into him, taking everything she had not to cry. Her ribs clenched with the effort of holding everything back. Blake's muscled arms wrapped around her back tightly, scooping her up like a child. For a second Maeve hovered on the edge of letting go, but Blake's arms tightened just a fraction more, providing a comforting pressure on her ribs. He nodded briefly to Cally, mouthing silently for the Auron to monitor Maeve as best she could and walked swiftly out with her.

 

Avon's blaster never wavered as he trained midnight eyes on the only route Travis could take, not even as he heard the unmistakable noise of the neutron blasters powering down, the sudden zing in the air as their systems altered. If he allowed himself to feel, he would have been disappointed, but the iron control did not allow him this. Anna had betrayed. Others would betray. Maeve betraying was simply another annoyance in the long list of annoyances life handed him, if one more potentially lethal to his way of life. He did not think of the devestation or the terror in her eyes, the flashes of memory so vivid they had almost reached his. Avon did not think of the control clamped down over her features being ripped apart, the maelstrom he could sense underneath even without the input of the Auron. He did not think of the spike of rage, or any of the other dangerous things that lurked beneath the still waters of his thoughts.

 

"Avon!" Avon swung round, still keeping the blaster battle ready, pointing it straight at Cally as she came running into the space. "Avon, you can stand down. There's no Travis." Avon watched her face coldly for a moment, before holstering the weapon.

 

"Better check Maeve didn't teleport half our supplies to him while she was it," he barked, brushing brusquely past Cally on his way to the teleport.

 

"Maeve is still here," Cally called, jogging lightly after him. "She...I think she is with Blake."

 

He turned at the intrusion of Cally at his thoughts, "Stay away from my mind."

 

"It isn't what you thought, Avon."

 

"She betrayed us politely rather than murder us all in our beds. I must remember to write her a thank you card," Avon growled out sarcastically.

 

"She didn't betray us at all!" Cally emphasised, reaching out for him. He whirled before her lithe fingers could touch the leather tunic and eyed her.

 

"Explain," he ordered.

 

"You said Travis was her...lover?" Avon's face remained a mask of fierce control. "They are related in your human bonding patterns. Travis is her brother, her older brother."

 

One dark eyebrow arched on Avon's face, "Her older brother? She stated people she loved, I discerned her family, at the hands of Servalan. Yet she has a brother and a brother who would have most likely executed Servalan's wishes, no doubt," he remarked.

 

"She and Travis are brother and sister, Avon. I could feel it in Travis and they do look similar."

 

"Don't. I don't want to look at her and see Travis," Avon barked, turning away. Cally stared after him with an open mouth, before her mind pressed at his. "I warned you to stay out," Avon's voice was low and dangerous.

 

"It's true, they are brother and sister."

 

"So he is her brother and she betrayed us to her family instead of a husband. That makes me feel so much better. I'll celebrate in my last few hours of life, shall I?"

 

"Avon, listen to me," Cally almost hissed. "She didn't betray us. She had no idea about Travis, she only knows him as her older brother not...not what he is. She didn't know he works for Servalan, Avon, if you could have seen her when she heard...you would not doubt your eyes."

 

"My eyes can be manipulated," Avon told her, "Continue."

 

"Travis knew she was imprisoned on Eight. He knew of her the entire time. He knew Servalan killed their family and he, he stood there and told her sacrifices have to be made, like she was a silly little girl." Cally's voice rose in sympathy, "And she did look like a little girl, Avon, a little girl wanting her older brother to be all the hero worship she'd kept for him when she'd lost him. Oh, Avon, watching it leave, feeling it leave. I can tell you, she is telling the truth."

 

"Stop," Avon warned, a muscle pulsing in his jaw. Dark eyes flashed towards the corridor.

 

"Travis offered her a free pardon from Servalan, to work with him," Cally added.

 

Avon span on the heels of his boots and eyed her, "What did she say?" he demanded.

 

"She turned to Blake, asked him if she could stay. Maeve told Travis that he was dead to her, that she considered her older brother to have died with...with the rest of her family, Avon. Finding out he was working with Servalan, what he's become...Avon, I felt that. I..." Cally's eyes were a mirror and she ducked her head. "Blake asked me to keep an eye on her."

 

"How is she?" Avon asked curtly, making Cally look up sharply as Avon stepped closer to her.

 

"I can't feel anything, Avon. I expected sorrow, rage, hurt. There is a wall there."

 

"I told her she was no better than the Federation," Avon muttered, mostly to himself. He filed away the information that Maeve had somehow protected her emotional state from Cally and looked down the yawning length of the Liberators' corridor.


End file.
